


i'll make it wrong

by jauneclair



Series: Long may he reign [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reunion Sex, Spanking, and Silver talking, hints of John Silver/Madi Scott, post 4.01, smut with feelings, submissive Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9573920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jauneclair/pseuds/jauneclair
Summary: Being a dead man was quite emotionally taxing.John Silver returns, and finds himself at the intersection of need and being needed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who (like me!) couldn't wait until 4x02 or 4x03 for a Silverflint reunion. This grew out of a little seed from thinking about Flint willingly ceding power over to Silver ;)
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

The wind kicked up at Silver's back, spewing sand through the air and into his hair. It failed to make his trip up the coast and towards Billy's camp any easier: the last in a list of annoyances that began with his newfound crutch sinking into the beachhead with every half-step he took; and ending with the fact that, down to a man, each fucking last member of Billy's camp - including men whom Silver had ever so much as laid eyes on before - need to greet him in happiness and awe.

Being a dead man was quite emotionally taxing.

His reunion with Madi sapped him, in a way he'd never felt before - but some part of him was reserved in preparation for what was to come. He knew he needed to see to Billy and Flint.

It was still early afternoon when John Silver entered what he was told had once been the Barlow house. His arrival was unheralded and, initially, unnoticed: in the midst their latest argument, Billy and Flint didn't pause to look at who'd entered. Silver took a moment to fancy what they'd do if he'd been Woodes Rogers, before rapping his driftwood crutch on the table between the two of them.

Madi had warned him.

The two men both to turned to look, their open-mouthed snarls dissolving into twin looks of shock. Silver wondered if Billy had looked into a mirror lately, and who exactly he thought he saw there.

"Silver," Billy said, eyes wide as pieces of eight.

"Isn't that King Silver? According to you, of course."

" _Silver_ ," Flint said, and it sounded like an entirely different word dropping from his lips. Their captain leaned over the table, his grip on it white-knuckled, as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

Billy asked, "How the fuck did you survive?"

"I'm not certain whether to be gratified or offended by your reactions," Silver answered, "but the captain may recall that I proved myself quite a good swimmer during our Urca misadventure. Well, if he could manage to swim out to a Spanish warship with one good arm, how could I not live by his example to make it back here with one good leg?"

He smiled a little, mostly for their benefit. The bloody cut on his lower lip stung with it.

"And so now all three of us can say that we have risen from the dead at one point or another."

Beneath his red beard, a muscle in Flint's jaw tensed. All night, once, Silver had sat up in that cage on the maroons' island, wondering if Flint would sacrifice himself. Like Billy had so wanted him to. Part of that worry that had sat, like a piece of rotted fruit in his too-empty stomach, was based in Silver's own sense of self-preservation. But the other part - the part that bade him sit down next to Flint and talk him out of martyrdom - recognized that Flint couldn't hadn't borne the weight of Silver's death lightly. Not now.

So damn Billy, again - what he wouldn't give to know the cause of the tension that hummed through the captain's broad shoulders beneath his coat. But Flint would never confess to anything in Billy's company, and there was, alas, a rebellion that was quickly coming to a head.

And of course Billy chose that moment to say, "Why don't you settle an argument between the cap'n and me."

He could hardly refuse, especially not when Billy launched into a defense of his plan and a complete rebuttal of Flint's before he, John Silver, could open his mouth.

Throughout their meeting, Flint spoke little; but sometimes, it was a man's silences that were the most telling, when one knew what one was listening for. And Silver, for all he could talk and talk circles around another man, happened to be quite adept at the art of listening. Particularly where Flint was concerned.

"I want a private word with the captain," he told Billy after he judged about an hour had past. The other man opened his mouth for a moment and then clamped it shut, before turning on his heel. Billy might have slammed the front door with a little more force than was necessary, but at least Silver had what he wanted: Flint, alone.

He took a turn once around the room, careful not to let the crutch skid on the floor.

"This is Mrs. Barlow's house, isn't it?"

Flint looked up from where he'd been fiddling with his hands. "It was Miranda's place, yes."

"I'm sorry," Silver said. "I realize it must be difficult for you, being back here like this."

"It's not - " Flint swallowed. His eyes swung round, possibly to take in the clutter of the house once more. The only sounds piecing the silence of the house were the voices of the men, off a-ways in the camp, a vague rumble of preparations. Silver was content to wait until the battle began if it was necessary, to let Flint finish. "Coming in here, with Miranda still gone and all these fucking _men_ \- yes. It was difficult. But the other night, all I could think was that I should've heeded your words from when we buried the treasure. A pattern is a pattern. You were right and you were wrong, but it hardly mattered because you weren't here to tell me either."

Silver didn't need to ask what night Flint referred to.

"I _was_ right," Silver said, stepping forward. "And I'm more convinced than ever that you will not be the end of me."

Flint's expression was - open. Not quite as vulnerable as it had been the night they'd sat around the campfire, or a few days ago when they'd shared their pre-battle drink aboard the _Walrus_. Open enough for Silver to see the tension that creased the lines around his mouth, under his eyes, cutting canyons between his brows. When had he started looking so old?

"And as to your being the end of me?"

"Don't you think - " Silver took another step forward - "it hasn't already started? That the legend of Long John Silver will be the end of the story of Captain Flint? You didn't seem too concerned just now, to cede the authority to me in this argument with Billy."

With that last step, he and Flint stood practically toe-to-toe. Flint's chest rose and fell strangely fast. He remembered Madi's relief at seeing him - but he'd barely acknowledged Flint's.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't imagine it was easy, thinking I was dead."

Flint met his eyes: his were wide, unblinking. "I shouldn't have left you."

"Madi said much the same. What, were you both just thinking that you could let the rebellion go to pieces for the sake of one man?"

At this, Flint's spine stiffened. For the first time since they'd begun this conversation, Silver remembered that Flint was, in fact, taller than he. But he didn't step back.

Flint growled, "I'm here, aren't I? She and I both."

But the line of his shoulders was too tense, like they were about to collapse inward. The weight of the crown. Silver - Silver had this opening that Billy had given him, and how could he not take it? To relieve the burden that had sat for so long on Flint's shoulders?

The past few days had been filled with extreme discomfort, in lieu of outright pain, from the ache in his wrists to the gnawing at the edges of his stomach. _Freedom from hunger, freedom from thirst._ He'd licked at the salty, sandy sweat on his cracked lips while he'd hung there like a captive animal. _Freedom from Flint._ He wasn't sure if he could ever be free now, but needing Flint - Madi had been on to something there. Long John Silver had already started to stand on his own.

In this moment, he was convinced that it was Flint who needed something from him, and that perhaps Silver's own restless monster, which had been trapped under the weight of the water and trussed with another monster's bonds, wanted - and _needed_ \- to give it to him.

Flint still stood there, weaving his hands together. He stared at Silver through half-lidded eyes. It reminded Silver of a dark humid night in a cage and _Where are you?_ But Silver thought he knew where.

So he stepped forward, his free hand cupping the back of Flint's neck, squeezing gently.

"Captain," he began, but that didn't feel right. "James."

Under the press of Silver's hand, a shiver ran down Flint's spine. And then his whole frame seemed to crumble, his body folding in on itself.

"Easy now, easy," Silver said. "Tell me what you need."

Flint shuddered again, swaying forward. His eyes were properly closed now. Jesus Christ, if he could only see himself: cheeks and neck flushed scarlet, with a tremble running through him that Silver tried to soothe beneath that pale skin, thumb moving in small circles on the back of the captain's neck.

"Tell me, James."

"Need you to touch me," Flint managed. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, so Silver got a glimpse of that dark bottle green, almost eclipsed by the blacks of his pupils.

A hair's breadth separated their foreheads. Flint still leaned towards him.

"Not even a _please_? Is that any way to ask your king?" Flint huffed, blowing a warm breath onto Silver's mouth. Silver couldn't help but grin; he'd let Flint retain his pride, for now. "We'll let it pass, since it must have been a long time since you've let anyone touch you like this. You're starved for it, aren't you?"

"Yes," Flint croaked, arching against Silver's hand on his neck, though he made no other effort to come into Silver's space to take what he so desperately needed.

"How do you want it?" His palm curled around the glorious column of Flint's neck, fingers tracing the thick vein that stood proud. His thumb - dirty to the quick, the nail cracked - came to rest in the hollow of the captain's throat. It seemed everywhere he touched, Flint's pulse followed. "Like this?"

Silver slid his fingers down to the open V of Flint's shirt. His chest there was as flushed red as the rest of him that Silver could see. Silver's own pulse pounded through his fingertips as he touched Flint - _Flint_. Who permitted this, who'd ceded the power not just willingly, but desperately. The force of it felt heady, like his drive to the surface of the water days before. He was responsible for Flint now.

It made Silver feel…kingly, really.

Flint still hadn't answered, his eyes fixed on Silver, his breaths short and unsteady.

"So is that a vote for gentle," he asked, "or - not…?"

He took hold of the front of Flint's shirt and tore.

Flint gasped, but only in surprise: he watched, still silent, as Silver finished ripping all the way down the shirt after two more attempts. Afterwards, he pulled the torn ends out of Flint's trousers and pushed the shirt and the coat past Flint's shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Launching forward, Silver took one of Flint's thoroughly hard nipples into his mouth and bit down.

Flint's hips jerked forward. "Yes," he said, " _please_."

With a smirk, Silver withdrew, only to start in on the other nipple. The keening of his captain above him, the curl of Flint's body towards Silver's went straight to his cock as Silver stepped back. The hand not on his crutch traced idle patterns on Flint's chest, pausing occasionally to toy with one of the spit-soaked nipples.

"I also heard from Madi that you had Billy worked up into quite a state the other night." He let his fingers trail along the hard curve of Flint's upper arm, studying the gooseflesh his fingers left in their wake. "I know your diplomacy skills are lacking, James, but this almost certainly requires correction. What do you think? Do I need to punish you?"

Flint sucked in a breath between his teeth. Patience. Patience was what he needed; Silver knew when to wait and when to spring on an opportunity.

At length, Flint nodded.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Since you behaved yourself for the better part of this meeting - at least the part while I was in attendance - I'll only need to use my hand on you." The noise that Flint tried to make was aborted, quiet. A bulge pushed at the front flap of his trousers. Silver's fingers itched. _Patience_. He needed something to distract himself as much as punish Flint. So he said, "Come here. I think you've earned a kiss."

The scratch of Flint's beard beneath his fingers soothed the itch, as Silver reached out to cup the side of Flint's face. Silver pulled him in.

 _Fuck_ if Flint's mouth didn't taste a hundred times better than it had in Silver's lazy imaginings. Their beards scraped together, but the other man's lips softened under his, as Silver pushed forward and Flint accepted him with a heady moan. _Need_ was nearly a real taste on Flint's tongue: it had all the flavor of the iron tang of Silver's own blood, drawn out of the cut on his lower lip.

Flint panted into his mouth as they broke apart. Silver felt out of breath himself, but he let himself smile, pressing his forehead to Flint's. "Go into the bedroom, take off your clothes, and lie down on the bed. You're not to touch yourself, understood?"

Flint's head moved in a fraction of a nod.

"Good." He slapped Flint's ass. "Go on. I'll be along in a minute."

He watched the muscles work in Flint's broad back as he retreated to the bedroom. Silver wondered if this was Navy discipline, the way Flint obeyed without hesitation, or something rather more innate.

His own cock felt heavy in his trousers. Silver rubbed at himself without much hope, but still bit back a groan. The ordeal of the past few days had left him too deprived - of sleep, food, and water - for him to fuck Flint today, but there were plenty of other satisfactions to be taken from his needy captain.

Silver took a few moments to find some soap and nearly-clean water to scrub his face and hands with, before gathering up a lantern for its oil. He trusted Billy not to return before he was summoned, and Madi was making preparations for the coming battle. They had a little time for what Silver intended.

When he pushed past the half-open bedroom door, he nearly lost his sense of the situation - of control of the situation - for the first time since he'd started.

He stood, dumbfounded, in the doorway as he looked on at Flint on the bed.

The captain lay on his back, arms spread slightly from his sides, legs perfectly straight. The ginger hair of Flint's beard reappeared on his arms, his chest, his stomach, his legs, the color lighter, the hair itself softer and sparser. The only darker patch of red was that the base of Flint's also-flushed red cock, which was hard and weeping against his stomach. Silver had never known that there were so many shades of the color red, or that he could love a color so much. A desire to touch - the juncture of hip to thigh, the shell of an ear, the soft skin behind Flint's knees _, everything_ \- flooded through him, through his stubbornly-resistant cock.

Flint half-raised his head to look at Silver, face more open than Silver had ever seen it. His naked chest rose and fell quickly. Silver shook himself out of his reverie. Flint _needed_ this.

He slammed the bedroom door, strode across the room without his crutch slipping once, and then set the crutch and the lantern on the floor beside the bed. Without removing a scrap of clothing, he kneeled up on the bed and then crawled up Flint's body, nuzzling Flint's sternum, the wide plains of his chest covered by a fine layer of soft red-gold hair. Experimentally, he ground his hips against Flint's, and was rewarded with a low moan.

With the tips of his fingers, he traced along the lines that stress and rage and loss seemed to have permanently written on Flint's face. Flint sighed into it, eyes closing again, as Silver willed the marks of time and pain away with his touch. When Silver was satisfied that he'd done all he could there, he flicked his tongue against the tip of Flint's ear and then said,

"I'm going to have you lay across my lap, with your wrists crossed behind your back. If you're very good while I punish you, I'll let you have my fingers in your ass."

Silver withdrew, setting his back to one side of the bed and spreading his legs out before him. Flint groaned as he rolled over, pushed himself up onto all fours, and crawled over to Silver. He prostrated himself across Silver's thighs, careful of Silver's mangled leg, so that Silver only needed to make a small adjustment before his hand came down to stroke over the curve of Flint's unscarred, freckled, white ass. Christ. If the sight of Flint, skin flushed and laying stark-naked against the bedsheets had been glorious, then for this - Flint, still, silent, still-naked and spread over _Silver's_ fully-clothed lap just waiting to be punished and plundered by him - was something Silver lacked words for.

And Silver was rarely bereft of words. He shook himself, again, and said,

"You're not to come while I spank you."

"How many times?" Flint asked, quietly. "How many times will you hit me?"

Silver's fingers kneaded at his ass. "Let's see how many you can take, eh?"

Without waiting for an answer, Silver brought his hand down.

The sound of the _smack_ was loud, but not enough to cover Flint's answering gasp as his pale ass quivered. The red blotch that followed spread quickly.

"Do I need to stop?" Silver asked. The fact that Flint's cock continue to weep against the side of his leg said _probably not_.

Flint's face was buried in the sheets, a red flush covering his ears and the back of his neck. Behind his back, his fists clenched and unclenched, but he kept his wrists crossed as Silver had commanded him to. "No," he said, muffled.

"No, I need to stop, or no, I should continue? Really, James, I know you can be much, much more articulate than that."

Silver's fingers smoothed over the reddened curve beneath his hand. It drew a broken moan from Flint. Turning his face so that his profile was visible, his mouth no longer pressed into the sheets, Flint said, "Continue. Please."

"Ask and thou shall receive."

Silver hit the other side of Flint's ass, and for a while there was nothing but the sound of this: the smack of his hand to Flint's reddening flesh, the noises that Flint tried to contain and smother into the bedsheets.

"This is what you've needed, isn't it, my darling?" Silver brought his hand down, hard, again. "Someone to meet you here, someone to touch you when you need it" - here he smoothed a hand over one of Flint's tender asscheeks - "someone to tether you. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner. But I'm ready now."

"John," Flint keened, writhing against his lap, "God, _please_."

He pressed his hand to the back of Flint's neck, pushing him flatter against the bed while his thumb rubbed circles between Flint's freckled shoulder blades.

"I know," he said, spanking Flint again. "I know how hard it is when others try and oust you, when you've fought for this for so long. When you've always tried to do what's in Nassau's best interest, and been met with skepticism and ridicule and resistance all the way. Death." He punctuated each sentence with another resounding slap, paused to allow Flint's answering cry before delivering the next. "I know you think you're the only one who can see it, the path to freeing the New World, but I'm here, darling. I'm going to do it so you don't have to. So you can let it all go. All the shame and humiliation and guilt and pain. Let it all go, love."

" _John,_ " Flint cried out.

Silver gave him a final smack on the ass. He reached over the side of the bed to pick up the lantern he'd left there, slicking his fingers in the oil.

Watching his first finger breach Flint sent the blood pounding to Silver's head again. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of that well-oiled finger sliding in and out of Flint; to marvel at the corded muscle of Flint's lower arms, tanner and more weathered than the rest of him, as Flint strained to keep his wrists crossed behind his back by will alone.

When Silver's second finger disappeared into Flint's tight hole, scissoring him open, the silence of the room became too much.

"You look so beautiful. So beautiful when you let go like this," Silver said. "When you let me lead you. I want to hear you, darling. Tell me how good it feels."

But all Flint could do was mumble Silver's name as he quivered against Silver's lap, stripped of all words and thoughts and plans at last.

Never touching Flint’s cock, Silver watched as Flint's orgasm crested through his body like a wave: the impact with the shoreline was surprisingly slow and gentle. He held Flint through it, one hand stroking down the notches in his spine, as the other man shuddered out the last little aftershocks from where he was still spread over Silver's thighs. The happy, sticky warmth against Silver's own skin told him that these trousers were thoroughly ruined.

He reached out: the red stubble scratched his palm as he ran it over Flint's head. Flint shuddered one last time. They stayed like for some time, Flint laying boneless over his lap, Silver’s hands stroking over his head and shoulders. Finally, Flint heaved himself off Silver's lap. He collapsed facedown on his stomach once more. The slick of sweat caught in the small of Flint's back drew Silver in again, a gorgeous sheen translucent over Flint's sex-flushed skin. He bent and lapped at it.

Flint didn't move a muscle. Silver slid down next to him, licking sweat and come off his fingers.

Flint opened his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

A redness ringed Flint's one visible eye. Silver couldn't help but reach out; and finding wetness there, wiping his thumb over the corner of the eye. He gathered Flint's tears on this finger and savored the salt of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos ALWAYS appreciated :) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ [jaune-clair](http://jaune-clair.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to talk Black Sails.


End file.
